“What shall it be, Medoline?  You cannot say yes to both of them.”

The question startled me.

“Are you very anxious for me to leave Oaklands?” My lips quivered as I spoke.

“Why, child, that is my trouble just now.  I am not willing ever to lose you—­certainly not so soon as these impetuous youths desire.”

“Mr. Bovyer is not young,” I said, with a lightened heart.

“What shall I say to them, then?”

“That I do not want to leave Oaklands.  I am so happy here.”

He made me no reply, but turned again to his writing-desk, and was locking the letters safely away when I left the room.  Then I bethought me of the letter still unopened in my pocket, and was hastening to my room, when Mrs. Flaxman intercepted me.

“Won’t you come into my room, Medoline, just for a few minutes?”

I followed her with some reluctance; for Mrs. Flaxman’s few minutes, I imagined, might extend into a good many, if she got to talking.

“I want to show the presents Mr. Bovver has sent us from New York—­one for each of us.”

She lifted the cover from a box on her stand, and handed me the most superbly-bound book I had ever seen.

“Yours is the prettiest,” she said, admiringly, as I turned over the leaves, looking at the engravings.

“Don’t you like it, dear?” she asked, surprised that I was so silent over my prize.

“Yes—­if it had not come from Mr. Bovyer.”

“Why, Medoline! not like a gift coming from one so kind and true as he is?”

“I wish I had never seen him.”  I threw down the book and burst into tears.

“Surely, Medoline, you have not fallen in love with him?  I should be so sorry, for he is not a marrying man.”

“No, indeed,” I cried, indignantly; “but——­” And then I stopped; for what right had I to tell his secret?

“Oh, Mrs. Flaxman, is it not dreadful to be young?  Men are such a trouble.”

“Why, my child, what is the matter?  You act so strangely I do not understand you.”

“No?  Well, I cannot explain.  But won’t you ask Mr. Winthrop, please, if I must keep this book?”

“Why, certainly you must keep it.  It would be rude to return Mr. Bovyer’s gift.”

“But you will ask?”

“Oh, yes, if you insist; but he will only smile, and say it is one of Medoline’s oddities.”

I went to my room.  But the traces of my tears must be removed, and the dinner-bell was already ringing.  However, at the risk of being late, I broke the seal of my letter.  I was getting terrified lest it might be another proposal of marriage from some unexpected quarter; for, I reflected, when misfortunes begin to come they generally travel in crowds; but this was not a love-letter.  It read: 

“Dear Miss Selwyn:—­I have been informed of your kindness of heart and sympathy for all who are in distress, and therefore am emboldened to come to you for help.  If you would call on me to-morrow, at 3 P. M., at Rose Cottage, Linden Lane, you would confer a lasting favor on a sorrowing sister.  I am yours, very respectfully,

  “Hermione Le Grande.”